Snow Covered Dreams
by SpoonyLupin
Summary: After the Beast thinks he has injured Belle during their snowball fight, this leads to an intimate fireside chat. Various things come to light including the fate of their mothers and something Belle had never before thought to ask – the Beast's name. [A missing moment from the 2017 film.]


**Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont, Stephen Chbosky, Evan Spiliotopoulos, and Linda Woolverton, and various publishers including, but not limited to, Mandeville Films and Walt Disney Pictures. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

* * *

 **Snow Covered Dreams**

Before Belle could scarcely even process what had hit her, she could feel herself falling backwards. She reached her hands out in front of her, desperately trying to regain her balance, but the heels of her boots only slid uselessly on the snow-covered stone steps. A moment later, the ground had rushed up to meet her and she was lying flat on her back, blinking up at the snowflakes swirling around in the blue sky above her.

She thought she could hear the Beast chuckling. It was a foreign sound, one that she hadn't ever heard before, and it was nice. Nice that he actually could laugh. That he actually could form a smile on his much-too-often scowling features.

But a moment later, that laugh was gone, replaced by something that sounded like concern. "Belle?" he called up to her.

She suddenly realized that she still hadn't moved from where she had fallen on the cold and icy stone steps. She had been much too shocked at the fall itself and then at hearing his laugh, she could barely even worry about things like moving at the moment.

"Belle!" the Beast called, more loudly this time. A few seconds later, his padded paws were thudding through the snow and up the stairs to meet her.

Belle immediately sat up at this, not wanting the Beast to worry. He slowed his bounding steps then, his head just coming into view for her. She could see that he had been down on all fours, springing up the steps towards her. When their eyes met, he immediately slowed his steps, stood up straight again, and closed the remaining distance between them. It was almost like he was embarrassed by the fact that he had been running like a wild animal.

When he reached her side, the Beast knelt down, his hand reaching out for her shoulder. Then he seemed to reconsider this and quickly withdrew it. He awkwardly placed his paw down in the snow instead, eyeing her carefully.

"Did…did I hurt you?" he asked. "Did you hurt yourself when you fell? I might have gotten a little overzealous with…with my snowball."

"No!" Belle replied, beginning to brush the snow off of her cape. "No, I'm fine. I just-" She cut herself off. She had been about to say, ' _I just never heard you laugh before'_ , but she didn't know if that was prudent or not. In the end, she settled for, "I think my pride was hurt more than anything else."

"I'm sorry," he said, and he really did sound sorry.

It was odd. All of this was so odd. His laugh. The concern and regret in his voice. The fact that he was apologizing to her. He never seemed like one to admit that he had ever done anything wrong, and here he was, telling her he was sorry.

"No," Belle said, still making a show of wiping the snow off of her cape, even though she had gotten nearly all of it by now. She wasn't sure what else to do and she didn't want to be left to stare uncomfortably at him. "I started it."

"I don't know my own strength is the problem," he told her. His eyes were searching her up and down now, as if checking for sure to see if she was injured. "I forget that not everyone…" He trailed off then, diverting his eyes out over the railing of the steps.

"I'm fine," Belle told him firmly. "Really. You didn't hurt me."

When he looked at her again, he glanced down at her cape, quickly becoming soaked with the melting snow beneath her.

"Perhaps we should get you inside," he whispered, "and get you warmed up."

Belle nodded and tried to climb to her feet. Now that the Beast had brought it up, she was getting rather cold, and her limbs didn't seem to want to work like they usually did. Not to mention, she was still having a hard time finding her footing in the slick and icy steps.

The Beast wasn't sure if it would be welcome, but he reached out a hand for her. He didn't touch her, but gave her the option if need be. He simply couldn't stand to see her struggle like this. Which was so very strange considering everything he had already done to her. He had imprisoned her and chased her out of his castle in fear, driving her straight into a pack of hungry wolves. But seeing her labored attempts to stand up were too much for him to bear.

Without a moment's hesitation, she laid a hand on his paw, using it to push herself up. It wasn't the first time they had touched, and she did so without the least bit of fear now, but the Beast still didn't want to assume that such a thing was all right.

"Thank you," she said quietly once she had regained her balance. Then she turned her attention to wiping the remaining snow from the bottom part of her cape.

The Beast was still on his knees, staring up at her. He climbed to his feet next and he found himself reaching out a hand for her again. But no. He wouldn't touch her unless she initiated it first. Something felt so very wrong about presuming enough to touch her without being invited to do so. His hand awkwardly went to his side again.

"It's all right," she said warmly, smiling. She then laid a hand on his strong and solid arm, feeling inexplicably drawn to it. Almost comforted by it. "I know you won't hurt me," she told him firmly.

The Beast let out a deep and shuddering breath. "No," he replied quietly, "I wouldn't. Not now, but I did." His warm blue eyes went up to the sprawling towers of the castle behind her. "I imprisoned your father here. I imprisoned you. That night I scared you so badly, you almost-" He stopped himself again, suddenly horribly ashamed of everything his had done.

Belle reached up a hand towards his face. It was almost like she was going to press her fingers to his lips to silence him, but then she thought better of it. The both of them were always thinking better of it when it came to things like touching. Belle, however, kept her hand hovering near his chin.

"You're different now," she said, narrowing her deep brown eyes at him in thought.

"Even after all I did to you," the Beast said, "you stayed. You could have left me to either be eaten by wolves or freeze to death in the woods. You could have run away, knowing you'd be free of me forever, because I'd be dead, but…you didn't. Even after you returned me to the castle, you could have left, knowing I was in no condition to even try and stop you. Yet you stayed, nursing me back to health. How could I be anything but gracious to you now?"

"You had just saved my life too," she reminded him. "I couldn't leave you lying there. I just couldn't, but…take me back to the castle." Her hand tightened around his arm, turning and leading the way up the stairs.

Not wanting her to lose her footing on the way, and since she had already said it was all right, the Beast placed his free hand in the small of her back. He had almost been expecting her to jump and shake it off. To turn on him and ask how dare he touch her in such a way. But she didn't. She simply continued to lead the way towards the castle, almost as if he was a regular person helping her up the staircase and not a beast.

* * *

When they were in front of the roaring fire in the sitting room, the Beast gently removed her cape. He shook the droplets of melted snow from it before he set it on the coatrack near the fireplace to dry. Belle had settled herself on the floor, her legs curled up under her skirt and her hands held up in front of the roaring flames.

Quickly retreating towards the door, the Beast said, "I'll leave you to get warm then."

He didn't know why he was in such a hurry to leave. In reality, he wanted nothing more than to sit with her by the fire, but he didn't want to push things. Belle had already been kind enough to him, and he didn't want to overstay his welcome. But Belle, it seemed, was not inclined to let him go just yet.

"Wait," she said, quickly turning in her place to look at him. "You've got to be cold and wet too. Won't you sit with me for a while? We could have Mrs. Potts bring us some tea."

The Beast opened his mouth to reply, then promptly shut it again. She had graciously joined him for dinner for the first time just yesterday and he still felt horribly embarrassed about the mess he had made of himself. How could she possibly want to see him consume anything ever again?

Yet she was still watching him, waiting for a response. Why was his instinct still to retreat into his lonely tower by himself when he wanted nothing more than to grant her wish? Why did he still feel so horribly uncomfortable around her, when she seemed to be doing everything in her power to make things less awkward between them? He supposed it was force of habit, but then…when she looked at him like that, he thought he would have given her the world if she asked for it.

"All right," he whispered, slowly approaching her once more.

It wasn't like they were still complete strangers, but perhaps in some ways, they were. Belle was learning who this new version of the Beast was and so was he. He was trying desperately to dig down deep inside himself to who had been back when his mother was still alive. Before his father had twisted him into everything he had always hated.

The Beast didn't want to be like his father anymore. He despised his father, and yet, he ended up becoming exactly like him. The Beast didn't even know how that had happened other than the fact that his father had been all he had known for so very long. Again, he supposed it had all come down to force of habit.

And then Belle had shown up and was treating his as close to a human being as probably anyone could. He knew his servants tried, but there were times when they still cowered from him. When they still looked up at him in fear. And yet, there were no traces of that in Belle's expression. Even though he hadn't been human in so very long, that look she gave him was stirring something deep inside him. Something he had buried long ago and was trying desperately to remember. To hold on to before it was lost to him completely.

Was this what it felt like to fall in love with someone? The only real love the Beast had ever known was that of his mother. During all of his lavish parties full of beautiful women, he had never felt anything for any of them. They were just like objects to him. Possessions. Accessories. How fitting that everyone else in the castle now was nothing but a mere object.

The Beast was just taking his seat on the carpet near her – but not too close – when Belle exclaimed, " _The Merchant of Venice_!"

She had grabbed up his copy of the book from where had left it on a nearby chair, flipping through it eagerly.

"Have you read it?" the Beast asked. This, this was comfortable. As long as they were talking about books and literature, he didn't quite feel as nervous as he usually did. It was familiar, fun.

"Of course," she said, "although it's been a while. I'd love to again, but…" She broke off, holding the book out to him. "I don't want to take it if you were reading it."

"Take it," the Beast said, placing his hand over hers and gently pushing the book back in her direction. He had done it so suddenly, he barely had time to think about the fact that he had touched her again. He had touched her without thinking twice about it. And she didn't even flinch away from him. It was almost like he had to keep reminding himself of that fact.

"I've read it so many times, I nearly have it memorized," the Beast told her. "It's my favorite Shakespeare play."

Belle opened her mouth to reply, but then she shut it again. She let the book fall into her lap, staring down at it. "Now why doesn't that surprise _me_?" she asked quietly. With her free hand, she traced the leather bindings on the cover of the book. "I remember enough about it – Portia's speech about 'the quality of mercy'." Belle paused, glancing up at the Beast once more. "No wonder you're so angry. You must feel like you've been treated so very unfairly. No one should be forced to live this way."

"No," the Beast said quietly, diverting his eyes to the flickering flames in the fireplace, "I've gotten exactly what I deserved. Perhaps _that's_ why I am so angry. I know I've brought all of this on myself and I've doomed everyone else here as well." Glancing back at Belle again, he said, "It wouldn't be so bad if it was just me, but…I hate knowing it's because of _me_ that they may never know what it's like to be human again."

Belle tilted her head slightly, staring deeply into his eyes. "What could you have possibly done that would warrant something like this?"

The Beast shook his head. "It doesn't matter." He shuddered at the thought of Belle finding out what kind of person he had been in another life, although he wasn't sure he was much better when he had first met her. In fact, he thought he might have been worse. As haughty, spoiled, selfish, and just plain nasty as he had been before the curse, it wasn't until after that that he had taken to imprisoning people in his castle.

"I think it does," she said softly, but he still didn't answer her question. Staring down thoughtfully at the book in her hands, she suddenly asked, "May I ask you something? Something else?"

"You just have," he replied, the corner of his lips curling up into a smile. "But yes, you may."

There it was again – that trace of faint happiness on his face that he was coming to show more and more often. The expression that Belle was sure, once upon a time, he didn't have in him to make at all.

"I can't believe I never asked before," Belle said, her eyes meeting his again. "It's something I hadn't even really thought about until…well, yesterday." She could feel her cheeks burning red in embarrassment. "And that's so stupid of me. How could I not have even considered it before?"

He drew slightly closer to her in interest. "Considered what, Belle?"

"What's your name?"

The question hung in the air between them as the seconds stretched out. It had been such a very long time since anyone had asked the Beast that. In fact, it had been so very long since he had even thought about it himself. He hadn't been human for years, he had already forgotten so much about it. About what it felt like to be able to walk as a human without pounds of hulking muscle, and fur, and claws weighing him down. About what it felt like to be able to eat like a human, as Belle had witnessed his clumsiness just last night. About what it even felt like to be called by something as simple as a _name_. He had become so accustomed to simply being referred to as _Master_ , to the way his servants' voices sometimes shook when they spoke the word, it had almost become synonymous with _Beast_ in his mind.

That's what he was now – simply _Master_ or _Beast_. Nothing more. A mere shell of the person he had once been the last time someone had actually addressed him by his name. He almost felt surprised at the fact that he hadn't forgotten it completely.

"No one has asked me that in…I don't even know how long," the Beast said, shaking his head in confusion. "No one even considers the fact that I one at one time."

"Like I said, I didn't until yesterday," Belle whispered, her discomfort at this still evident on her blushing cheeks. "Will you tell me?"

"Adam," he said, closing his eyes against the surge of emotion that threated to overcome him. "My name was Adam."

"And it still is," Belle said. When the Beast opened his eyes again, he saw that she was frowning deeply at him. "You're still Adam. In here." She suddenly reached up, lying a hand gently on his chest near his heart.

The Beast felt his breath become heavy and hard at her touch. His very first instinct was to pull away from her hand, but at the same time, that was the very last thing he wanted. It made him ridiculously uncomfortable for her to be touching him in such an intimate way, but then he craved her touch too. He had clung to solitude so much since he had been placed under this curse, the very thought of being close to anyone scared him almost to death. But then Belle was the only one he thought he _could_ tolerate touching him in such a way.

She was the only one who cared enough to try and get to know him. She was the only one who cared enough to ask him something as simple as his _name._ She was the only one who cared enough to initiate touch. She was the only one who wasn't afraid. Who didn't shudder in fear at his growls, and claws, and fangs anymore.

And so he stayed where he was. He didn't pull away from her grasp, instead letting the warmth of her hand seep through his shirt and into his fur. Once the initial shock had passed, he realized how nice it felt.

"I haven't been Adam in a very long time," the Beast said sadly. "I'm not sure if anyone else even remembers it but me."

Smiling up at him, Belle said, "I'll remember it now too. You deserve to be called by something more than… _Beast_. I don't even think of you as that anymore."

The Beast's breath caught in his throat and he stared at her. He tried to think of something to say to her in response – to thank her perhaps – but words were completely lost to him. It seemed as if his brain had suddenly ceased to function. There was a certain tightness in his chest, and it was strange, and agonizing, and wonderful all at once.

What was it about this lovely girl before him that was able to make him feel all sorts of things he had never felt before in his life? That was able to calm the beast inside him that suddenly roared to life at the slightest provocation? As much as Bell might insist otherwise, there was a monster inside of him, one that had awakened sometime after his mother had died. That had been dementedly nurtured by his father until he had become the sort of conceited, and spoiled, and selfish man that an enchantress might see fit to curse.

And there it was, he supposed – the very thing that made Belle stand out from everyone else he had ever met in his life. She reminded him of his mother.

When the moment had suddenly grown too uncomfortable to hold her gaze any longer, the Beast hung his head slightly. "It's been such a very long time," he said, "since anyone has seen fit to sit and talk to me like this. Not really since my mother died. After that, all I really knew was my father who barked orders at me when he wasn't belittling me completely."

"How old were you when she died?" Belle asked quietly, not sure if she was probing too much into his personal life or not. But since he had been the one to broach the subject, she thought it might be okay.

"Ten," the Beast replied without the slightest bit of hesitation. When he looked back up at her again, his blue eyes were swimming with emotion. "Even with all of this taken into account," he said, using one of his massive paws to gesture first to himself and then towards the door which led to the rest of the castle, "it remains to this day the hardest thing I've ever gone through. In many ways, she was my entire world and once she was gone, I was left to my father, who didn't even hold a candle to her."

When it came right down to it, Belle was completely surprised at how very much they shared. That was something she never would have thought possible when she first met him – that this large, hulking beast could have such human emotions and pain in his past. Just as she had.

She told him, "My mother died too, only I was just a baby. I don't remember anything about her."

"I'm sorry," the Beast whispered around a heavy sigh. "I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone. Not even my worst enemy." Despite the heavy subject matter, the Beast found a smile pulling at his lips. Then he said, "But your father must be the reason you turned out so wonderful then. That night in the dungeon, you told him that everything you are was because of him. Only now do I realize why."

Belle nodded slowly. "He was all I had."

"So was my father," the Beast replied, "but he only succeeded in twisting me into the very monster he was."

"Then who you are now could hardly be considered your fault," Belle pointed out. "We become what we know, what we're taught."

Shaking his head, the Beast said miserably, "But my mother hardly raised me to be this way. I feel like I've done a disservice to her for disregarding everything she ever instilled in me."

"You were only ten!" Belle argued. "It's hard enough to stand up to pressure when we're fully grown. You had just lost your mother and your father was the only parent you had left. Of course you trusted him and let him guide you from that point on, as would any child in that situation."

The Beast didn't reply. He had turned away from Belle and was facing the flames in the fireplace. He was staring daggers at them, his blue eyes dancing furiously in the light. Belle wasn't sure if she should say anything else. He made it seem like this conversation had run its course, but she felt she needed to make one other thing known.

"For what it's worth," she said firmly, tilting her head to try and get him to look at her, "I don't think you've dishonored your mother in the least. Maybe she wouldn't have been happy with the path your life has taken, but I do think she would be proud of how much you've grown since that very low point of losing her."

The Beast didn't reply, and Belle didn't think he needed to. The fact that he was silent meant that he was at least considering what she had said.

A moment later, the silence in the sitting room was quickly growing to be overbearing, and Belle was more than thankful to hear the familiar squeak of the wheels on Mrs. Potts's tea cart.

"Did someone mention tea a while ago?" Mrs. Potts asked cheerily, oblivious to the weightiness of the conversation that had just preceded her entrance.

The Beast quickly cleared his throat. "Yes, Mrs. Potts," he said gruffly, his voice nearly overrun with emotion. "Thank you."

"I thought you might also like some soup to warm you up after your little romp in the snow," Mrs. Potts said, a knowing smirk in her voice.

The Beast didn't bother to reply to this, so Belle said, "That would be lovely."

"We'll have it on the table in a jiffy then," the teapot said, quickly rolling out of the room on her cart.

Once she was gone, the thickness in the room had once again settled, and Belle wasn't quite sure what to say or do to break it. Then the Beast must have decided that it was too much as well. He sprung to his feet so quickly, he caused the flames to shiver in his wake. Drawing his coat more tightly around himself, he made his way towards the door without waiting for her.

"Wait," she called after him, getting to her feet as well. Holding the copy of _The Merchant of Venice_ against her chest, she took a few hesitant steps towards him, but then she stopped well short of reaching him. "Don't you want to walk to the dining room together?"

She thought she knew why he was suddenly being so closed off, so standoffish. It had probably been so very long since he had talked with anyone about his past. Belle was sure it brought up a lot of memories and feelings he had long since buried, and ones he wasn't quite sure how to process anymore. Perhaps she had also hit a chord and it was making him reflect on everything his mother was, on everything he had turned out to be.

He didn't reply for a very long time. He simply stood there, facing the door, his paws clenching into fists. After what seemed like nearly a minute, he spoke, but it wasn't at all what Belle was expecting him to say.

"You know, if you'd prefer to eat alone, that would be perfectly fine," the Beast said quietly. He hung his head, diverting his eyes to the floor. Had they not been obscured by fur, Belle was certain she'd be able to see a blush rising up in cheeks. The Beast swallowed audibly before he added, "I won't force you to keep eating with me. It was wrong of me to try and do that in the first place."

A moment of silence hung in the air between them, during which the Beast was all but positive that Belle would agree. That she would flee from the room, thrilled with the knowledge that she would never have to watch him consume a meal ever again.

"Adam," Belle said then, "don't you see?"

The Beast was still staring down at the floor, so he was entirely surprised when he felt Belle's hand on his arm a moment later. He glanced up at her, his eyes wide and questioning.

"See what?"

Smiling, Belle shifted her arm to wrap it around his. "That was all I wanted," she said. "You're giving me a choice in the matter and that counts for a lot."

Raising an eyebrow, the Beast asked, "So are you saying if I had asked nicely your first night here, you would have said yes?"

"No. Absolutely not," Belle replied immediately, shaking her head. A small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "But that was before…this." Her other hand, the one that wasn't on his arm, was still holding _The Merchant of Venice_ close to her chest. She used it to motion in the air between the two of them for a moment. "Before I realized that you're not the least bit scary after all."

Belle opened her mouth to go on, but the Beast cut her off with a growl. "Except I was," the Beast argued. "If you say you weren't terrified of me that night in the tower with your father and later on in the West Wing – I'm sorry, but you are a liar."

"But you're hardly that same person anymore."

The Beast was lost for words when Belle called him that – a _person_. Not an animal, or a beast, or a monster. A person. He was glad when she spoke again, because he wasn't quite sure he could have put a coherent sentence together just then.

"We both know it," Belle told him. "Would I have even _considered_ hitting you with that snowball today if I was the least bit afraid of you?"

Just a week ago, the Beast thought he probably would have chased her out of the castle in anger again if she dared to do such a thing. But now, when he had seen her laughing in joy that afternoon in the wake of her snowball, all he could think about was how much more he wanted to hear that sound. How much more he wanted to see that giant grin on her face. How much more he wanted to see her eyes light up the way they did when she had stared down at him from that icy staircase.

Simply shaking his head, the Beast whispered, "No."

"You won't even require me to eat with you anymore," Belle added, "much less lock me in a cell like you did that first night."

The Beast once again diverted his gaze in embarrassment. "It's been such a long time since a _stranger_ showed me any sort of kindness." When he took a chance and glanced back at Belle again, his expression was one of deep appreciation and gratitude. "I told you when we were outside, but I don't know if you realize just how many others would have left me for dead in the woods and never looked back. How many probably would have been rejoicing at the fact that I'd be dead in a matter of hours, if not minutes."

Belle tightened his grip on his arm slightly, stemming his flow of words. "And it would be their loss, because they never would have learned what lie behind that gruff exterior. That there was someone sweet and kind underneath all of that waiting for someone to reach out to him." She turned her head briefly, nodding towards the window. "It's like waiting for the snow outside to melt. Only then can you see the beauty of the grass, and the tiny seedlings, and buds that lie dormant all winter."

"You really believe that?" the Beast asked skeptically. All of this still seemed too good to be true. He wasn't sure why Belle would be telling him all these things unless she believed them, but he wanted to keep making sure he wasn't dreaming at the very least.

Belle nodded insistently. "Absolutely." She smirked slightly before she added, "I'm hardly the type of person to lie someone about…well, anything."

"I know you're not," the Beast said contentedly. Without even stopping to think about what he was doing, he laid his free paw atop her hand that was perched on his arm. All at once, it felt right, and comfortable, and _welcome_ even.

"Belle?"

She only stared up at him, waiting for his question.

"Would you do me the honor of joining me for tea?" It was a question similar to one he had asked her before, only his tone held none of the sarcasm or scathing nature that it had. This time, it was full of thoughtfulness, and kindness, and everything it had been missing before. It was almost unbelievable how much had changed in the short span of a week.

Belle's previous smirk broke into an all-out smile. "Yes. I would love to."

"But I seem to recall you telling me you would starve before you ever ate with me," the Beast said, a slight note of teasing ebbing at his voice. A part of him could barely even believe he was trying to make a joke out of something that had been so very dire.

"And I seem to recall you telling me that if I didn't eat with you," Belle responded in kind, "then I wouldn't eat at all."

Considering this, the Beast said, "So we were both wrong. But you know something? I'm okay with that."

"Me too," Belle said warmly.

A moment later, she had leaned into him, resting her head against his upper arm. She tugged at his arm slightly then, leading him from the room. It still made the Beast ridiculously nervous when she kept touching him so intimately, but at the same time, it gave him hope that perhaps someday, the curse would be broken.

Just a few short weeks ago, he never would have imagined that he'd be sitting by the fire with someone like Belle and then joining her for tea. He never would have imagined that she would be asking his name and reminding him that he was still a human underneath it all. He never would imagined that there would be _something there_.

Something there, coming to life among the snow-covered garden.

 _The end_


End file.
